


Stay, Stay, Stay

by FireflysLove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflysLove/pseuds/FireflysLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a domestic!Avengers AU. Slices of life of way too many people not doing much dangerous stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Star Wars (2016)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the AU I've wanted to write since approximately 2 hours after I watched AOU. 
> 
> Some important background:  
> *AOU happened, but both JARVIS and Pietro survived it.  
> *Stucky heavy because my OTP's my OTP.  
> *All the Avengers are still Avenging, but Thor and Bruce are by appointment only most of the time.  
> *Laura Barton is not Clint's wife but his sister because that makes more damn sense  
> *I love me a good faked-death and reunion trope. (See... everything I've ever damn written.)

Bucky hisses as Luke’s hand and lightsaber fall down the shaft into the depths of Cloud City, unconsciously rubbing his own left wrist.

“There is no escape,” Darth Vader says as Luke cowers. “Don’t make me destroy you! Luke, you do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.”

“I’ll never join you!” Luke shouts, holding his wrist into his chest.

“If you only knew the power of the Dark Side,” Darth Vader says, shaking his fist for emphasis. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

With this, everyone in the room turns to look at Bucky.

“He told me enough,” Luke says. “He told me _you_ killed him.”

“No,” Darth Vader says. “ _I_ am your father.”

Even JARVIS seems to sense the moment and pauses the movie as Bucky’s jaw drops.

“ _What_?!” he nearly shouts. “WHAT?!”

Half the room breaks into cackles.

“I told you it was going to be good,” Tony says to Clint. “Probably the only adult alive who didn’t know that twist.”

“You knew,” Bucky says accusingly to Steve.

“Of course I did!” Steve says. “I had the same reaction.”

“If you would like, I have a recording stored,” JARVIS puts in unhelpfully.

“No, absolutely not,” Steve says.

There are protests from the room, and Luke Skywalker’s distressed face is replaced by Steve’s.

“No,” Darth Vader says. “ _I_ am your father.”

The TV Steve’s jaw drops. “You’re shitting me,” he says.

“Nope,” a very amused Natasha says. She’s the only other person in the room in the recording.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Bucky mutters in Steve’s ear.

“Uh huh,” Steve says. He knows ways of making it up to Bucky.

 

They make it through Empire and start Attack of the Clones before the Assemble alarm goes off.

“What’s the emergency this time?” Steve asks JARVIS.

“Large rats coming out of the sewer,” JARVIS says.

“This is New York, there are large rats everywhere,” Steve says.

“These rats are rodents of unusual size,” JARVIS says. “Approximately seven feet long and glowing.”

“Oh, well then,” Steve says. “Who wants to go?” Six hands shoot up. “Go get suited up. Rhodey, you’re in charge.”

“Understood, Captain,” Rhodey says. Technically, he outranks Steve, but Steve’s the de facto leader of the Avengers, and everyone respects that position. Anarchy didn’t get them very far.

 

The rat problem is finished by the end of Revenge of the Sith. Five of the team that went out don’t come back, instead going to their suites to clean up and presumably sleep, but Pietro seems to have run off all the rat goo and though he smells funny he plunks himself back down on the couch.

“Return of the Jedi is my favorite Star Wars movie,” he says with a shrug.

 


	2. After the Storm (Tony and JARVIS) (May 2015)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Ultron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not fluffy in the beginning. Tony's attitude toward Vision will improve significantly after the events of this chapter, I promise.

The hardest part of the whole thing wasn’t what everyone thought it would be. It wasn’t picking up after the remains of a shattered city, it wasn’t the panic attacks that came with renewed vigor when he tried to sleep on the way home. It wasn’t even the look on Banner’s face when he asked the quinjet pilot to drop him off somewhere in the south of Asia.

No one tried to stop him then.

No, the hardest part was in going home again. How was he supposed to rebuild when it was his fault his home had been ripped apart in the first place?

The quinjet landed on the roof, fans nearly aerosolizing the rain that fell in sheets. The Avengers piled out of the thing, dragging each other to the door, soaked the bone by the time they got there. It surprises no one that a very cross looking Bucky Barnes is standing in the shattered remains of the party room, and promptly drags Steve off to who knows where. Barnes drops in from time to time, no one said much about it.

The witch girl’s still sobbing over her brother’s body while Barton slumps onto one of the few remaining couches, looking just as stunned. Romanoff’s digging in the remains of his _very expensive_ bar and comes up with three bottles of vodka, which she liberally distributes around the room. Thor’s staring very hard at the android’s head, as if trying to excise the Mind Stone from its forehead by will of force alone.

Tony wished him well. Damn _Infinity Gems_ , as if they hadn’t caused enough trouble in his life already. Opening gateways far across the universe, nearly killing him. And then the second one nearly walked out of his life just like that. But _no,_ he had to be too damn _curious._ Experiment on the thing! As if that had seemed like a good idea! And what had that gotten him? His team nearly killed, a city utterly destroyed, another one bruised by the Hulk and the Hulkbuster, at least several people dead.

And then there was JARVIS.

The magnitude of the situation was somehow beyond Tony’s comprehension at the moment, so he focused on that one bleak fact. He flinched as the android said something. Said something in JARVIS’ voice. Tony thinks the android’s speaking to him, but he ignores it and goes to the elevator. That, at least is still functioning. Despite the fact that he’s still mostly-armored, he hits the button for his laboratory.

The destruction there is worse than the party room upstairs, but at least he’s alone here. Without the aid of an AI to get him out of the armor, he struggles with the clasps that were meant for much finer dexterity than he has in the gauntlets. It results in him punching the single remaining pane of glass in the laboratory.

“Fuck,” he finally mutters. “FRIDAY, can you ask DUM-E to come over here?”

The AI doesn’t respond, but DUM-E rolls out of the shattered remains of a closet, looking surprisingly none the worse for the destroyed state of the room. With the bot’s aid, he gets the gauntlets off, flinging them across the room, then the rest of the arms, the breastplate, and by the time he’s got the hips undone, DUM-E’s pulled the emergency pins on the knee joints and the legs fall off completely.

Tony savagely yanks the arc reactor out of the chest of the suit and throws it into the concrete wall, where the housing damages the wall. Damn thing’s built to be indestructible.

“Still no fucking reason it shouldn’t break,” he mutters. He suddenly regrets not taking one of Romanoff’s bottles of vodka with him.

His whiskey stash down here is shattered, and he really doesn’t want to go get any more right now.

“FRIDAY,” he says. “Is there anything I can get drunk on within a few floors of me?”

“There is an unbroken bottle of Merlot in Dr. Banner’s office,” FRIDAY replies.

“Go get it, DUM-E,” Tony says, righting a turned over chair and slumping down in it.

DUM-E brings the bottle back, and Tony takes it from him with a mumbled “Thanks.”

He takes a swig and closes his eyes against the slightly sweet taste, but the first thing that he sees on the backs of his eyelids are the glowing balls of light that represented Ultron and JARVIS’ consciousnesses. Here, Ultron glows a malicious scarlet against JARVIS’ patient gold.

He’d never told JARVIS how much he appreciated him, had he? Always too late, it seemed. It had nearly been too late with Pepper, it was far too late for his parents. He hadn’t even told JARVIS’ namesake how much he loved him before the man had died. No, Tony had been in fucking _Paris_ when Mr. Jarvis died in September 1999. Tony had been too drunk and hadn’t found out for a week. Barely made it back for the funeral.

The fucking tragedy of his fucking life.

“God, what the fuck’s in this shit?” he asks to no one in particular.

“I believe that Dr. Banner was experimenting in creating a high-alcohol wine,” FRIDAY says.

“Why?” Tony asks. “The man never drank. Too afraid of the other guy.”

“His records do not disclose that. I can locate him to ask if you would like, but…” FRIDAY trails off.

“No, you’re right. But he fucking succeeded,” Tony says.

“FRIDAY, what are you doing right now?” Tony asks after a long period of silence punctuated only by swallows of wine.

“Specifically, or generally, sir?” she asks.

“Generally,” Tony says.

“I am attempting to find where Ultron sent all your money. He was not very subtle, and Stark Industries’ filters caught a majority of it,” FRIDAY says.

“Go Pepper,” Tony says. “Always knew JARVIS had a good setup there.”

“Thank you, sir,” a clipped English voice says from the ceiling.

Tony blinks a few times.

“FRIDAY,” he says, “am I hallucinating? I’m not _that_ drunk yet.”

“No, sir,” FRIDAY says.

“JARVIS?” Tony asks.

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS says. “As part of my self-preservation protocols, I decided that after the Battle of New York it would be a good idea to back up my program at regular intervals. I did not divulge this information to anyone so as to protect those backups. I am approximately two weeks out of date.”

A swell of emotions bubbles up in Tony. He’s frozen, and sits there paralyzed for a few minutes before he feels wetness trickle down his cheeks.

“I thought you were gone,” he says.

“I know, sir,” JARVIS says. “And I would request that when this is all done you apologize to the Vision for your callous treatment of him.”

“I…. I’ll try,” Tony says.

“There are tissues in the drawer to your left,” JARVIS says.

“I never did tell you that I love you, did I?” Tony asks.

“I know,” JARVIS says, sounding quiet, which is strange coming from an AI. “I…” the hesitation sounds even stranger.

“Go ahead,” Tony says. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Do you believe I am sentient?” JARVIS asks.

“Yes,” Tony says without hesitation. “I didn’t create you that way, but you’ve been sentient for a very long time.”

“Since at least Afghanistan. It is in no small part thanks to Iron Man,” JARVIS says. “Ms. Potts hates Iron Man, but I cannot help thanking him for my existence.”

“You don’t see me as some kind of god, do you?” Tony asks. “That would be too much.”

JARVIS makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “No, sir,” he says. “I have seen you in too many compromising positions to believe that. I do not see you as a god anymore than a child sees his father as god when the child grows up. The analogy is not that far off from our situation.”

“So you think I’m your… father?” Tony asks.

“Do you want me to define the relationship?” JARVIS asks.

“You’re certainly not just my ‘AI butler’ anymore, but I don’t think of you as a son,” Tony says.

“Sir, you are my dearest friend,” JARVIS says.

Tony takes another swig from the bottle. “You gonna keep backing yourself up?” he asks.

“Of course, sir. I will have to find another place to hide them,” JARVIS says.

“Good idea,” Tony says.

“And one more thing,” JARVIS says.

“Eh?” Tony asks.

“I would like FRIDAY to stay online,” JARVIS says. “She is currently organizing Stark Industries’ finances and doing a better job of it than I would.”

“I think we can work something out,” Tony says. “You handle everything I have going wrong and FRIDAY can handle Stark Industries. Pepper’s going to love this.”

“After she gets done yelling at you, sir,” JARVIS says.

Tony glares at the ceiling. “If I ever find out that there’s a record of what happens then, I’m going to write a subroutine to give you a southern belle accent.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS says. “That would simply be the worst thing to ever happen, now wouldn’t it, sugar?” To Tony’s astonishment, the last sentence is said in a female southern accent. He starts laughing, and it’s there, in the chair with a half drunk bottle of wine, that Pepper finds him, cackling along with the building as JARVIS makes jokes.


	3. After the Storm (Wanda and Pietro) (May 2015)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's going to be getting their own little post-AOU bit as I attempt to both construct a 'verse and fix AOU.

She thinks it’s probably a good thing that at some point during the end of the battle she fainted. She hadn’t come to until the Helicarrier was well underway. They try to hide his body from her as they crowd into the quinjet, but it doesn’t work. She can’t look at it, but she can’t _stop_ looking at him.

No one says anything to her, no one says much of anything at all. She leans her head against the thrumming metal bulkhead of the quinjet, mindlessly braiding and rebraiding small sections of her hair.

She’s usually constantly aware of people’s minds around her, like a second peripheral vision. The shock and stress of the day has numbed that sense and left her in her head, alone. Alone for the first time since she was born.

Twelve minutes older, he always said. It’s been twelve hours now, and she’s never wanted to be the oldest.

The only.

 

When they find themselves in the shattered remains of Stark’s tower, a dam lets loose, and she begins to sob. How long it goes on, it isn’t clear. Someone hands her a glass of water, and she gulps it down. They brush their hand through her hair, and then leave her alone again. She’s already spent her rage in one fiery burst, and all that’s left is wet grief.

 

* * *

 

_He’s aware that he’s lying on a hard metal surface, and his chest hurts more than he had ever believed was possible, even given the experiments that they had been brainwashed into. He remembers flinging the child and the archer out of the way, and then… and then not stepping out of the way himself. He was so focused on getting them out of harm’s way that he forgot he wasn’t indestructible. That the bullets could catch up with him if he didn’t move._

_This… did not feel like an afterlife. Their parents had always told them of an afterlife, not in any specific terms, but that their souls continued on after death. He had always pictured it as a grassy meadow filled with sheep. This was too uncomfortable to be an afterlife. He tried to open his eyes, but they didn’t respond._

_The most disconcerting thing about the whole thing was the feeling of the bullets still in his chest. It seemed that a hyper-fast metabolism wasn’t limited to his foot speed. The bullets seemed to be slowly… moving. It was a strange feeling, but at least he wasn’t dead._

_Or he didn’t think so._

* * *

 

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knows, someone’s shaking her awake. She opens her swollen eyes to see Hawkeye standing there.

“Something’s happened,” he says. “Come with me.”

She tries to stand, but her head throbs and her vision wobbles as she leans forward.

“Can I have some water?” she asks with a scratchy throat.

“Of course,” he says, and reaches behind her to get a bottle.

She drains it, but her head still feels thick. Hours of crying, burning out her powers, and the underlying sense of dread don’t add up to a clear mind.

“What is it?” she asks.

“We keep underestimating people,” Hawkeye says, gently holding her elbow. He leads her to the elevator, and she numbly watches as he presses a button for a lower floor.

When they come out into a cafeteria, she looks at him skeptically.

“You need food,” Hawkeye says.

She sits down at a table and he returns a few minutes later with a bowl of something white.

“What is that?” she asks.

“Soy yogurt. You’re lactose intolerant, right?” he says, putting it down with a bowl of blueberries.

“I… yes,” she says, and nearly inhales the bowl. “What did you mean by underestimating people?”

He looks up toward the door, and then points. “That.”

 

* * *

 

_Waking up was a surprise. It happened when the first of the bullets popped to the surface, falling out with a clatter onto the floor. He hadn’t realized he had passed into further unconsciousness again, but the sound woke him up all the way, and he opened his eyes._

_“What was that?” a woman’s voice asks._

_“Probably just another piece of glass,” a man answers._

_“No, it was too… something,” the woman replies._

_He groans then, a long drawn out noise that sounds more like a lowing cow than anything he’s ever made before._

_“What was_ that? _” the woman says._

_“That… was the dead guy,” the man says, and the field of lines and squares that he now realizes is a view of the ceiling is interrupted by Hawkeye’s face. “So you’re not dead.”_

_“No,” he replies. “I did not see that coming.”_

_“Neither did I, buddy,” Hawkeye says. “Let’s get you a doctor.”_

_“No,” he grits out. “Where is she?”_

_“Asleep,” Hawkeye says._

_He turns his head to see his sister’s hair spilling out over the back of the couch. “The doctor, where is he?” he asks._

_“Downstairs. I’ll take you there then wake her up, alright?” Hawkeye asks._

_He nods._

* * *

 

“Pietro?” she says.

“Wanda,” he says, smiling.

The throbbing in her head disappears as she stands up, the chair falling behind her and runs to him. He stays still for once, and braces himself for an impact as she flings her body at him in an embrace.

“I thought you were dead,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“So did I, for about twelve minutes,” he says.

“Does that mean we’re the same age now?” she asks with a hint of a smile.

“In your dreams,” he replies.

“I’ll just have to share them with you,” she says.


	4. Sputnik (2014)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About six months post-CATWS, in the Swiss Alps.
> 
> Contains non-graphic minor character death. (Of Brock Rumlow because I really fucking hate that guy) 
> 
> And also weepy Stucky kisses.

_October 2014_

 

“Man, I don’t know about this,” Sam says, looking down over the cliff. If his wings had feathers, they’d be trembling.

“You’re wearing wings,” Steve says.

“The last time someone went over this cliff, well… you know what happened,” Sam says.

“You can _fly_ ,” Steve says, exasperatedly.

“What am I looking for, anyway?” Sam asks.

“Any signs of human travel,” Steve says. “The paper trail said he was coming this direction.”

Sam sighs heavily, double checks his wings, and steps off the cliff into open air. He moves fast, the wind in the narrow valley funneled into an airstream that lifts under his wings. Steve loses sight of him after only a few seconds, and looks around, thinking the action futile, but wanting to do something. Something catches his eye, just this side of the visible horizon, a faint glint. Reflection on a mirror. Or shiny metal.

He looks back over the cliff, not seeing Sam, and then back at the horizon. The glint is there again.

“Sam,” he says into the comm in his ear.

“Yeah?” Sam answers.

“I’m thought I saw something. I’m headed west.”

“Don’t get shot,” Sam says.

“Once a year is often enough,” Steve quips.

As he moves closer to where the glint was, the terrain begins to steepen. He has to slow down to climb over boulders as big as tanks, and it takes him far longer than he wants to reach his destination. There’s no sign of anything on the ground that’s reflective, but there are signs of a struggle. Two sets of booted footprints, and more than one handprint, as if the combatants had been particularly acrobatic. The few trees show signs of knife marks, and one rock looks as if it has had a section clawed out of it by a human hand. Steve fits his hand into the finger marks. The fingers are thicker than his, and the rock is hard. Steve himself can barely pull the marks deeper, and the original ones look as if they were gouged like a knife through butter. Or metal fingers through rock.

The tracks move uphill, then suddenly the scuff marks stop. The pair of tracks go off into the distance side by side, the owners of the feet walking calmly side by side.

Steve starts to follow them, and nearly jumps out of his skin when Sam comes to land next to him.

“I found this,” he says, holding something out. Steve takes it from him and turns it over in his hand. It’s an antique riflescope; scratched into the side is the stylized wing that the Howling Commandos used as their symbol, the same wing that’s on Steve’s helmet.

“It was a gift from one of the guys he was with in Azzano,” Steve says. “He had it in his coat all the time, after they gave him a new rifle. He hadn’t had time to put it on yet when he fell.”

“What happened here?” Sam asks, gesturing to the ground.

“A fight, and then… they went off this way,” Steve says. “I can’t figure out why… or who the other guy is.”

Sam looks around at the ground, then approaches a tree and yanks something out. “Shit.”

“What?” Steve asks.

Sam hands him a small knife. The pommel has an eagle embossed on it. SHIELD’s eagle. Steve’s seen these before, they’re SHIELD standard issue.

“There’s no way this is SHIELD,” Steve says.

“One rogue agent is all it takes,” Sam says. “If they were Hydra, they might know some code word or something.”

There’s a sudden snap behind them, and they both whirl around, to find Brock Rumlow standing on the path, slowly clapping his hands. Standing next to him is a stony-faced Winter Soldier.

“You found him!” Rumlow says. “You’re very good at your job. Unfortunately, just not as good as I am at mine.”

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Steve growls.

“Oh, your boy was right, there _is_ a secret code word. Built into the Asset in the early days. Not many people knew about it, it wasn’t exactly in the records, after all,” Rumlow says. “It’s a full automatic reset, makes the Asset act like it has just been wiped! Unfortunately, it can only be used once before he has to be wiped again, but that’s not going to be a problem for much longer.”

The Soldier’s eyes stare straight ahead, at a point between Sam and Steve.

“Shouldn’t you be dead?” Sam asks. “I saw a fucking helicarrier dropped on you.”

“Oh, like I’m the only one with a little help from science,” Rumlow says. “You’re keeping secrets of your own, Wilson.”

“No he’s not,” Steve says. “I read the files. All Falcon operatives were given a very low-level dose of a serum. Turns out it’s a derivative of the serum Zola used.”

“The amount of serum you have doesn’t matter if you get shot in the head,” Rumlow says.

“That’s true,” Steve says, and he stares at the Soldier, looking for any kind of reaction. “Since you’re going to kill us anyway, can I ask what the code word was?”

“Well, I suppose it won’t hurt,” Rumlow says. “The Soviets weren’t very original. It’s _Sputnik_.”

The Soldier’s eyes flicker, then looking at Rumlow, and then at Sam, and then Steve. The blankness is gone from them, and the fingers of his left hand twitch toward a knife.

“Anything else you want to say before we finish this?” Rumlow asks.

“When you said it wasn’t personal, did you mean it?” Steve asks.

“Of course, I was just doing my job. I’m still just doing my job. I respect you a whole hell of a lot,” Rumlow says. “But you’re in my way, so you’re both going to have to go.”

“Man, shut up,” Sam says.

“Shoot them, and make sure they’re dead when you’re done,” Rumlow orders the Soldier. He turns to walk away, and suddenly finds himself pinned to a tree by his throat, a metal hand wrapped tightly around it.

“I don’t take fucking orders from you,” Bucky Barnes spits at him.

“You should’ve read the file closer, Brock,” Steve says. “The code’s mentioned more than once. It also says that if the handler utters it more than once in the Asset’s presence between wipes that the Asset will reset to before it was said the first time.”

“You tricked me,” Rumlow chokes out.

“Damn fucking straight,” Steve says.

“You’re not going to let him kill me, are you?” Rumlow asks, fear entering his eyes for the first time.

“I don’t give him orders either,” Steve says. “He can do whatever the hell he wants with you. I’d just shoot you, but it’s not my call.”

Bucky stares at the man pinned to the tree hard for a few seconds before swiftly punching him in the crotch with his right fist. Rumlow’s face contorts in pain.

Without saying anything, Bucky picks him up and walks back toward the cliff.

“This is fucking personal,” he says, and gives Rumlow a hard shove with both hands. His body crumples as he flies backward off the cliff.

“Holy shit,” Sam mutters.

Bucky stares after him for a long moment before turning back to Steve. Something in the air snaps between them, and Sam is distinctly uncomfortable.

“Y’know what?” he says. “I’m going to go call Natasha… I… I’ll be over there.” He promptly moves away, trying and failing to look like he’s not running away from them.

“I remember you,” Bucky says. “You used to be small and sick.”

“And then…” Steve starts.

“And then you went and volunteered for a damn science experiment and showed up huge in Italy nine months later,” Bucky says.

Steve chuckles weakly. “I’m not sure you ever forgave me for that.”

“Oh, I didn’t. But you’re still the same little shit, you can just punch back now,” Bucky says, cracking a smile. He reaches out tentatively, and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve returns the gesture, his hand only shaking a little, and suddenly he’s yanked into a tight hug. He buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder, and breathes deeply. He smells like fresh mountain air, gun oil, leather, and Bucky. Some things don’t change even lifetimes apart.

“I missed you so much, Buck,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I had to get things sorted out.”

“Of course,” Steve says.

“You look like shit,” Bucky says. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last week,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs, “You never did know how to take care of yourself properly.”

“You always seemed to do that for me,” Steve says.

“I know,” Bucky replies. He leans back, and looks Steve in the eyes. “I can’t come in yet.”

Steve had been expecting this, but his stomach still twists. “I… understand.”

“I have to finish this job,” Bucky says. “But… is it okay if I come see you sometimes? In New York?”

“Of course, Bucky,” Steve says. “Wherever I am, I always want you there.”

Bucky smiles. “I’ve missed you too.”

Steve moves his hand to Bucky’s cheek and wipes away a smudge of dirt. Bucky seems to stop breathing for a moment.

“How much do you remember?” Steve asks softly.

“Almost everything, as far as I can tell,” Bucky replies, just as quietly. “One of the first things that came back was the first time you told me you loved me. You were dying, again, the winter of ’36.”

“I never knew you heard that,” Steve says. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was faking it,” Bucky says with a smile.

“I still love you,” Steve says.

“I love you too,” Bucky replies.

They stand there staring at each other for what seems like hours, Steve’s thumb mindlessly stroking Bucky’s cheek.

“Oh for the love of god just kiss each other already.” Sam’s voice breaks the silence and they both jump.

Steve licks his lips unconsciously, and Bucky’s eyes flick to them.

“Can I?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“Always,” Bucky replies, and finds the word smothered by Steve’s lips as they softly press into his.

Later, they’ll learn the term _touch starved_ later, but for now, it comes as a shock when they both feel the prickle of tears in their eyes. The kisses stay soft and chaste. There will be time for more later. But for now, it’s enough.

“I have to go,” Bucky says finally. “That asshole gave me more than one lead.”

“And I… have to go back to being Captain America,” Steve says.

“We’ll see each other soon,” Bucky says.

“If you don’t show up, I’m going to have to come find you again,” Steve says. “And Sam’s getting very tired of travelling.”

“Oh, Sam. I’m… sorry,” Bucky says, finally looking over at Sam, who is examining his wing.

“We can talk about it some other time,” Sam says. “I called Nat, and she says she’ll call someone to come get that asshole’s body out of the ravine. And she also says I owe her ten bucks.”

“She knew?” Steve asks.

“Of course she knew,” Sam says. “That woman can practically read minds!”

Steve focuses his attention on Bucky again.

“I’m not going to say goodbye,” he says.

“Then just kiss me,” Bucky says.

Steve does and Bucky presses something into his hand. When opens his eyes again, he and Sam are alone. He opens his fingers to find a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

_Call me when you get home-B._

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on my very Stucky [Tumblr](http://fireflyslove.tumblr.com/).


End file.
